


Paws for Concern

by methylviolet10b



Series: By a Whisker [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack and Angst, Magical Realism, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another altercation...but this time, there's consequences outside of the (ab)normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paws for Concern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MonkeyBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/gifts).



> This probably won't make sense anyway, but it might make more sense if you read [Hot Tabby](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1183844) and [Jingle All The Way](http://archiveofourown.org/works/590605) first.
> 
> Written for monkeybard, who prompted: Cold feet, magical realism.

He was filthy, wet, and teeth-chatteringly cold, and _none_ of that mattered. It was just transport, insignificant compared to the problem he _had_ to solve.  
  
Except that if he wasn’t so sodden and chilled himself, he might be in a better state to warm the limp body he held so carefully. He was afraid of doing further damage, but more afraid of setting him down, letting him out of his grip. Because this was his fault. He hadn’t thought through the potential consequences, the actual danger and risks. In fact he’d thought he was so clever, asking a former client of his – a baker – to come up with an allspice biscuit recipe, and to give a packet to John to carry in his pocket, “just in case.”  
  
It _had_ come in handy, too, when they’d needed to get into that one locked office on the Gimmell matter; and again, when they’d been being chased by the Thomas gang, and John had managed to lead them in the wrong direction, provide a distraction that might well have saved his life and Sherlock’s life too. In fact Sherlock couldn’t quite remember at the moment just how many times John had used his unusual talent, his _curse_ , to their mutual advantage. It was just one more of the many talents John hid beneath his unassuming, ordinary exterior.  
  
So clever. So useful. So _stupid_ , to allow previous successes to blind him of the unforgivable reality of just how hazardous it potentially was. How unknown. He’d simply accepted it, because it was John, because it was so far outside of anything he knew, because it was fascinating.  
  
And because, despite previous evidence and a full knowledge of John’s character, he’d never really considered what could happen if – when – one kilo of kitten confronted sixteen stone of violent felon.  
  
John’s surprise attack had given Sherlock just the edge he needed to eel out of the choke-hold and gain the upper hand. He’d knocked the man out within seconds, but not before the larger man had shouted for help, alerting the others to their presence – and not before he’d slammed the kitten into a wall.  
  
The kitten, who just happened to be John.  
  
Sherlock hadn’t had time to do anything other than scoop his unmoving form up as carefully as possible and then run.  The incessant rainstorm had drenched them both, but it had also helped Sherlock elude their pursuers, at least for now.  
  
But it had also shorted out his mobile, and of course John’s was long gone, vanished wherever his clothes went when he transformed, unless he’d thought to drop it beforehand. But either way, it was no help now. He, Sherlock, was all the help John had.  
  
He ran one gentle fingertip over John’s bedraggled fur, trying to determine how badly hurt he might be. No sign of blood, and his limbs and tail looked all right. His eyes were closed, his sides heaving rapidly. His paws were freezing, icy to the touch. Sherlock was almost certain that wasn’t normal. His own feet were cold, but thanks to Mrs. Hudson’s hand-knitted socks, were if anything slightly warmer than the rest of him. He briefly considered trying to take one of them off and ease it around John; it might help warm him up. But it wouldn’t be practical; it would slow down Sherlock himself, and trying to squeeze the kitten into the sock might make any internal injuries worse.  
  
No, the best chance he had was to get back to Baker Street. John had made him swear never to take him to a veterinarian, but if the kitten wasn’t showing any signs of improvement by the time they reached their home, Sherlock might just risk it, vow be damned. He knew at least one who owed him his life, and wouldn’t ask questions. Probably. And he was a far better risk than Mycroft.  
  
But first he had to get them home safely.  
  
Carefully, painstakingly, Sherlock eased the kitten into the coat pocket he’d had enlarged expressly for this purpose. Normally John helped, really climbed in himself, but now there was nothing. It was surprisingly difficult to untangle his fingers from beneath the wet fur and the slight weight of his body. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to let go. But John would be marginally safer in his pocket than if Sherlock carried him in his hand, a little more protected, a little warmer.  
  
Or so he theorized.  
  
Now it was up to Sherlock to get them home. He took a deep breath, pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, and started running.


End file.
